He read for quite a while. Read and smoked. Then the springs groaned again, released of the weight, and slippers shuffled to the door. Blind flew away under the coatrack. The coat and the rain jacket pressed together, hiding him and the crumpled blanket. Elk went to the bathroom without noticing anything. Back the same way, the click of the light switch. The door slammed shut. Blind emerged from his hiding place, returned to his former spot, put the blanket down, and lay back. He placed his head on top of an open palm and fell asleep. His dreams were clear that night.
The first thing Siamese Rex did when he went down to the yard was to check the traps. There were three, and two of them he’d constructed himself. But this time the one that worked was the third one, even though he’d placed the least hope on it. The concrete hole. It was unclear who had built it and what for, but it sure made for a nice trap. Rex baited it by throwing fish entrails down and then camouflaged it with pieces of lumber. He couldn’t check on it every day because of the rains, but he did visit it from time to time. The smell of the entrails grew stronger each day. Finally he heard a rustle and low growling when he passed by.
He crept to the edge of the hole, got on all fours, and peeked under the plank. The stench of rotted fish hit him full in the face. A ginger cat, ragged, dirty, and wet, arched its back and hissed at him. Rex whistled excitedly and toddled away. When he returned, his pockets were full of stones. The cat must have figured what was in store for it and attempted to jump out. Rex shot it down with a piece of brick. Then he proceeded to toss the rest of his haul. The planks interfered with his aim, and most of the stones missed the target. Rex was afraid that the cat would either bolt or start screaming. The cat was indeed yelping now, drawing attention to itself. Rex was slow to notice Lame, and once he did it was useless to pretend that he’d just happened near the hole by accident.
Lame, the hunchback with golden curls, an unpleasant stare, and a twisted leg, was one of Skull’s people.
“Having fun?” he said, stopping next to Rex and looking down into the hole.
The cat was frantic, throwing itself against the smooth concrete walls. It might have gotten out if not for the injured paw. Three legs were not enough for the jump.
“Get the animal out,” Lame said, lighting up.
Siamese started to back away. Lame grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
“I can’t. It’s too deep. If I take the planks away it’ll get out by itself.”
Lame didn’t say anything. Rex began to take off the lumber. Once the last plank was gone, he looked back at Lame.
“Get it out,” Lame repeated indifferently. “Before I throw you in.”
Rex leaned forward and made a plaintive purring sound, but the cat did not respond. It was hiding somewhere. Siamese sighed and slithered into the hole. He was afraid to jump. Because of the leg.
Lame stood right at the edge. Rex shot him a glance, saw the evil slit of the lipless mouth, closed his eyes, and crashed down to the bottom of the hole.
The cat went completely berserk. It took to the walls, mewling and scrabbling for purchase. Rex felt the leg, making sure it was intact, and then tried to grab the protesting cat.
“It scratched me!”
“Get it out,” the implacable voice said again.
The cat drew zigzags in the air around Rex. He tried to catch it by the tail. It doubled over with a muffled yelp, claws out, then jumped on Rex’s head and out of the hole, leaving ginger hairs in his hands. Its scream trailed off in the direction of the garage and then ascended to the sky.
Rex crouched, waiting. His scratched face and hands smarted. At first he saw only the sky above him, but then Lame appeared, surrounded by his golden halo of hair, in a striped blazer the color of mustard. He was holding a piece of brick. Siamese stared at it in horror.
“Let’s play,” Lame said. “You’re going to be the cat, and I’m going to be you. It’s a great game. Ready?”
He flung the brick down. Rex gasped and shielded his head.
“Isn’t that fun?” Lame said. “But if I were you I’d try to duck instead. Or you might get hit, you know.”
He tossed two more stones and then yanked Siamese out by the collar. Reeking of fish, limp as a rag, Siamese sagged in his hands, eyes closed. But as soon as Lame lowered him to the ground, Rex perked up and dashed toward the House sideways, like a crab. Lame gave him one last look and sat down on the plank, smoking and dropping the ash down into the hole.
The boys of the Poxy room were playing catch with the boxing glove. The radio screamed. Magician covered the hamster with his top hat, then pulled the hat back and sighed sadly. The hamster, still not used to the top hat, was gorging itself on potato peel to calm its nerves. Siamese Max, wearing a polka-dot shirt, was sitting on the windowsill, pressing his nose and lips against the glass and looking fretfully down at the yard. He was worried. So worried that he was ready to throw up.
